


Unexpected Shades

by Morgyn Leri (morgynleri)



Series: Before Third Age Divergence Points (First Age) [4]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe, Don't copy to another site, GFY, Halls of Mandos, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-11
Updated: 2019-10-11
Packaged: 2020-12-09 11:30:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20994089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morgynleri/pseuds/Morgyn%20Leri
Summary: In the Halls of Mandos, Fingon sees a face he's not expecting, and worries for those left behind.





	Unexpected Shades

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Pyre](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20993981) by [Morgyn Leri (morgynleri)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/morgynleri/pseuds/Morgyn%20Leri). 

> Thank you to Lferion for sanity checking and cheerleading!
> 
> This functions as a companion piece for Pyre.

_I WILL NOT!_

The bellow of outrage is a familiar voice that draws him, away from the quiet of the corner of the halls he inhabits with those who had followed him after the battle that felled him. Wandering through the Halls, following quieter shouting until he finds a group of newly-dead, who seem to be at odds with each other. Some are familiar.

One is entirely too familiar.

_You're supposed to watch out for Russ and Erenion._ Fingon is surprised his words do not falter, though he thinks if he had a voice, it would crack. The words aren't the best he could summon to greet Morigâlæ, but they are the first to cross his mind.

She turns away from the one she seems to be most intent on arguing into submission, grief flaring bright as sunlight for a moment. _Dômilîr. Fingon._

He wraps around her as easily as she does him, ignoring the other new-dead, indeed, the Halls themselves around them. At least it is only her, and not them both. Fingon worries for Maedhros, but Maedhros has his brothers to look out for him.

_Not all of them._ Morigâlæ shifts, not truly letting go, so he can see who else has arrived with her. Several are strangers, but three are familiar enough to make him shiver. Celegorm, chaotic summer storm, Caranthir, polished dark steel, and huddled shadowed and small between them, Curufin. Not the Ambarussa, not Maglor or Maedhros, at least.

Fingon watches them a moment, then looks at the strangers, two who are wrapped around each other as much as he and Morigâlæ. One is silver mist and lightning, the other looks more as Fingon expects he did in life, if almost blinding bright. Not elda, not entirely, that one.

_I haven't gone looking for Fëanor yet, I don't know where to find him. Or Father._ Fingon thinks Fëanor and Fingolfin are likely in the same place, but he doesn't know for certain. Hasn't wanted to know if his father and his uncle are figuring out how to get along now that they're dead, or if there's anger as bright as whatever made Morigâlæ shout.

_We'll find him later._ Caranthir is the one to speak, giving the impression of a shrug.

_After that filth answers for trying to murder children._ Morigâlæ shifts again, turning to glare at one who is trying to hide behind Celegorm. Failing when Celegorm wraps himself instead around Curufin, moving them both out of way.

_They failed?_ Silver mist speaks, voice cold as winter winds at Himring.

_I sent the boys away with Tavor. That one and his companion were not given a chance to follow._ Morigâlæ moves forward, drawing herself up like flame, anger leaving a sharp tang to jangle against his fëa.

**Enough.** The voice rings through them all, making everyone flinch except the one who looks most himself. Námo towers above them for a moment before he folds down into something smaller, if not lesser. **There will be no harm given in these halls.**

Morigâlæ snorts, her anger tamping down like banked coals. _Then that one should not remain near to me and mine. I will have no dealings with those who would do such an evil as they were intent upon._

Fingon curls around Morigâlæ, startling himself a little at the hair-fine threads of gold running through his fëa. Gold he'd not missed until now, though he doesn't think he's seen it since he died. _Then he shall not remain with us. There are others we can wait with._

The bonded pair of fëa follow him, though they shy away from the triad of Celegorm, Curufin, and Caranthir as much as they can. Fingon isn't sure why his cousins are following with him. They never had done so in life, save that they followed where Maedhros led. Most of the rest of the new-dead remain behind.

Where his followers are, it is quieter than it is where the new-dead trail in. Groups sitting quiet together, some taking note of him and those in his train, others turned too much inward to care.

_Celegorm._ Ëol has kept to himself since he arrived, a shadow nearly blending into the walls, though Fingon cannot fail to notice his sister's husband.

He lets out a soft, mirthless laugh at the parallels. Himself and Ëol in one battle, Morigâlæ and Celegorm in another, and Maedhros and Aredhel left behind. Fingon doesn't think he will see his sister and Maedhros arrive together, though.

_Ëol._ The joy in the greeting lightens the grief, and seems for a moment to bring a memory of summer warmth and sun to the halls around them. Fingon can see more than one fëa stir, looking more their living self for a moment in the strength of it. _Aredhel and Lomíon did not go to Doriath._

There is relief that feels to Fingon as the moon rising over the ice. A gladness to the shadow that Ëol has been, that those he loves best are more of them safer than dead. Fingon hopes they stay so.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I have plans for some of the things hinted at here, just. It's a very massive thing, and it will take time to get there. :)


End file.
